Almost too quiet.
Six days of steady travel, and the worst they’d experienced was a stubborn wheel on the second wagon. No monsters. No scouts. No magical disturbances. No signs of trouble.
Lira said it best that morning:
“This is the most uneventful escort job I’ve had in years.”
Kael stretched, walking backward beside the last wagon.
“Honestly? I could get used to this. Sunshine, clean clothes, no goblins—”
Ronan cut in.
“We’re close to Korvelle. Keep alert.”
Eis understood why.
Relaxation was exactly when most caravans lowered their guard.
Which meant—
It was exactly when bandits preferred to strike.
They were passing through a narrow stretch of road flanked by thick underbrush on one side and sloping rock on the other.
Not a canyon.
Not a true choke point.
But enough to block quick escape.
Eis slowed her pace.
Something felt… wrong.
A shift in the air.
A faint rustle where no breeze was.
The subtle smell of leather oil and sweat—
Kael felt it too.
He lowered his voice.
“…Movement.”
Ronan didn’t turn his head.
“Where?”
“Left brush. Thirty paces.”
Eis whispered.
“Three more on the ridge above.”
Lira tensed.
“Positions.”
It began with a whistle.
Sharp. Quick.
A signal.
Then—
Bandits burst from the bushes.
Six from the left, roaring with rusted swords raised.
Three from above, sliding down the rocky slope.
Two archers emerging from the trees.
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They aimed for the wagons first — always the goods first.
Kael’s bow was in his hand instantly.
Ronan drew his blade.
Lira’s hands lit with a pale, shield-like sigil.
Eis stepped forward calmly, twin blades sliding free in a silent arc.
Kael fired two arrows in rapid succession:
- first arrow: into the knee of a charging bandit
- second arrow: knocking the bow from an archer’s hand
“Nice try, sweetheart,” he muttered, drawing again.
Lira raised a shimmering ward in front of the wagons.
“Stay behind the barrier!” she shouted to the merchants.
The translucent shield took the brunt of the first volley of arrows — cracking, but not breaking.
Ronan met the first bandit with overwhelming force.
Steel clashed.
He parried once—
then disarmed and knocked the man unconscious in three swift motions.
Another charged him.
Ronan stepped aside, elbowed him, and dropped him with a blow to the spine.
Efficient. Controlled. Solid.
A bandit rushed Eis with a raised axe.
She moved.
A single step.
One clean cut.
He fell.
Another tried to circle her.
She deflected his blade, turned, and struck him down with a single backhand slash.
Two more came from the side, expecting her blind spot.
Eis pivoted, using the momentum of her cloak — blades flashing.
They collapsed before their cries finished.
Kael whistled from behind her.
“Eis, stop making us look bad!”
The remaining bandits hesitated.
Ronan’s voice carried over the battlefield.
“Drop your weapons.”
Two bandits fled.
One surrendered.
Another tried to run past Eis.
He didn’t make it three steps.
She moved to intercept but struck only with the flat of her blade — knocking him out, not killing him.
Ronan nodded at her restraint.
Lira lowered her shield with a long exhale.
“Everyone okay?”
“Fine,” Ronan said.
“Peachy,” Kael called. “Not a scratch.”
Eis wiped her blades clean.
“Yes.”
The caravan master, Brenn, approached with shaky legs.
“T-Thank the stars you were here,” he said. “If it had been any other escort… we’d be dead.”
Lira nodded.
“This is why you hire adventurers.”
Kael poked a bandit with his boot.
“Bold of them to attack with Team Argent here.”
Eis sheathed her blades calmly.
Ronan met her eyes.
“Good work.”
Eis dipped her head.
“You as well.”
Lira dusted off her cloak.
“We should move. Bandits rarely work alone.”
Kael stretched.
“And because we’re only a day from Korvelle, which means real beds, real baths, and real food.”
Lira groaned with longing.
“Don’t remind me.”
Eis smiled.
They regrouped and prepared to continue down the road—
their destination closer, their bonds stronger,
their path now marked with the memory of a battle won together.